


my saddle's waiting (can't tell me nothin')

by Etherea



Series: Multiship Kinktober 2020 [4]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: M/M, Non-Sexual Kink, Pony Play, Ponyboy Will Graham
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-05
Updated: 2020-11-05
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:41:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27409006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Etherea/pseuds/Etherea
Summary: His tail is a banner as he runs, though the shorter locks of his mane merely bounce at this pace. Such beautiful texture, the waves and curls reminiscent of Friesians. Perhaps Connemara is more appropriate, though, given his size and what Hannibal knows of his provenance.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Series: Multiship Kinktober 2020 [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1947865
Comments: 1
Kudos: 15





	my saddle's waiting (can't tell me nothin')

**Author's Note:**

> Kink summary in end notes (though this is about as vanilla as kink gets!)
> 
> Many thanks to [Locktea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Locktea) for beta-ing!

Hannibal’s steps are quiet crunches, muffled in the sand of the round yard. Wire brush whispers contrasting the tom-tom thuds of the steed tracing the perimeter of the round yard. He’s shaking his fine-boned head as he stamps - plenty of nervous energy to work out, clearly - and Hannibal urges him on. Direct eye contact and a squared, aggressive posture drive the animal to a proper run, running in earnest. The fine long lines of his form draw the eye, his flanks heaving with effort. The circles, endless and identical, occupy his nervous body, leaving his mind free to consider the man in the centre of the space, ever-present in his sideways gaze. The lazy flick of a rope keeps his heels moving without touching them. The open hands that project _away, away,_ and he runs and runs and goes nowhere.

His tail is a banner as he runs, though the shorter locks of his mane merely bounce at this pace. Such beautiful texture, the waves and curls reminiscent of Friesians. Perhaps Connemara is more appropriate, though, given his size and what Hannibal knows of his provenance. 

It is unusual for them to revisit something as basic as this with a permanent resident of the stable. None have been under Hannibal’s care as long as this one, and it is perplexing and endearing in turns to have him demand they re-establish their connection. He is the sole such resident of the estate’s stables now. Some may say it is a waste of such expansive facilities; Hannibal prefers to believe it is merely affording appropriate respect to a remarkable specimen. In any case, when his blood is hot like this, it wouldn’t do to have him around other animals. 

He’s a flight animal, as are they all, but this one will resort to fighting sooner than any other Hannibal has seen. So sensitive to the moods of those around him. Occasionally the tension of receiving and returning all those signals builds and explodes like steam. Hannibal’s touch and quiet words are usually enough to soothe him. Some days he needs more. 

There’s still plenty of quiet words, though no touch yet. Hannibal murmurs to him, just loud enough to carry over the sound of their steps and the huffs of his breath. The memory of conversation with Jack, once upon a long time ago, comes unbidden. 

_“Are you not accustomed to broken ponies in your stable?”_

_“You think Will Graham’s a broken pony?”_

_“I think you think Will is a broken pony. Have you ever lost a pony, Jack?”_

_“If you’re asking me whether or not I’ve ever lost someone in the field, the answer is yes. Why?”_

_“I want to understand why you’re so delicate with Will. Because you don’t trust him, or because you’re afraid of losing another pony?”_

Broken. Lost. A pony can be these things before one’s eyes, under one’s hands. Most who pretend at horsemanship call the process of contact _breaking in_ . But what pleasure can be had in taking a beautiful thing and breaking it, just for the sake of feeling ownership over it? Bone knits, flesh scars, but the shadow in the eye of a broken thing does not heal. One who gains control of a beast in such a fashion takes pride in despoiling; they worship a skeletal form, never knowing it was once lush and wondrous. Distasteful. Much better to face them, to speak their silent language, and ask if they will join with you. _?”_ More honest. Kinder, and more ethical. Only the truly rude deserve to suffer. And with this method, if one is very skilled and even more patient, one may even start to heal a mind broken under a cruel touch. 

The pace has slowed now, and that curly mane flops in front of his eyes as his head drops; the admission of need begins. Hannibal’s stance eases; torso turning so both their flanks are broadside, eyes dropping to the ground as the conflict between them subsides. Hannibal coils the rope and watches his body language. It would not do to be complacent, even at this tipping point. The teeth remain sharp, and the instinct to fight is only barely less than the urge to flee. Both, though, are now overwhelmed with a desire to connect. The endless circle becomes a spiral, drawing inwards. Hannibal turns further until the creature is behind him. It’s a risk, always, to put one’s back to something so powerful. A small and considered risk, worth taking. Hannibal permits himself a small smile when he feels the muzzle nudge his shoulder, and leads the once-savage beast on a winding path through the undisturbed sand where neither of them have trod. 

* * *

_Will nudges Hannibal’s shoulder, and shudders in relief when a large warm hand cradles the side of his head. Through the leather muzzle he snorts out a tentative greeting, and Hannibal turns to respond in kind. He exhales and feels his jaw, clenched until now on the leather bit hidden inside the dark leather horsehead mask, relaxes. After today, one in an unbroken sequence of increasingly stressful days, he had felt unmoored, swept by the inexorable tide of other people’s emotions into a vast and unkind sea. No music but the waves; no company but the horizon. Hannibal had bypassed the garage entirely, parking the Bentley by the horse boxes and dragging him into the stables to strip him and put on his hooves, tail, and mask. Here was freedom in restraint; the circle, the sand, the state of existing only as a creature of muscle and nerve. Permission to wear his heart, as all horses do, on his sleeve. To kick when you are threatened, play when you are content. Ask for connection when you are tired of standing alone, too scared to sleep but too tired to run. Hannibal’s hands smooth over the expanse of his sweaty skin, stray grains of sand rasping, twitching shivers working their way out of his mind as much as his muscles. Somehow he is moved through the process of cooling down. Sensations make themselves known through the veil of his calm; a brisk sponge bath to remove the sweat and sand, a cursory inspection of his teeth and ears. His conformation is as sound as ever. The broken parts of him that ache when storm clouds gather are not visible on the surface, but he feels Hannibal’s gentle touch on the wounds in his mind too._

_When Hannibal turns and walks him to his stall, Will follows without a thought. There is no threat here. He is with his herd. His head droops further as he enters the stall. The weight of his tail plug pulls him inexorably down, and he surrenders his heavy limbs to gravity, sinking into the embrace of the fresh straw bedding._

**Author's Note:**

> Hannibal has Will in a dark leather horsehead mask and hooves, and wearing a buttplug tail with hair reminiscent of his own. He runs Will in circles around a round yard and communicates with him using body language. Afterwards Hannibal grooms Will, and puts him to bed in a stall.
> 
> Soundtrack: [Pony/Old Town Road Mashup by Pomplamoose](https://youtu.be/E8gUKEGuS20)  
> Inspired by Season 1 Episode 2 ‘Amuse-Bouche’, and [Monty Roberts' Join-Up horsemanship technique.](https://youtu.be/vYtTz9GtAT4)


End file.
